IGMS Issue 17 Read Online Free Page B

better come down."
    Brad's heart lurched as he stood and headed for the door. "How is she?"
    "She's in a coma, but . . . the doctors say she could die at any time."
    "I'll be there as soon as I can." He rushed down the steps, yanked open the Mustang's door, climbed in, and put the key in the ignition.
    And froze.
    The magic of the Mustang could get him to the hospital before Denise died, he was sure of that. But he didn't want to arrive just in time to see her die.
    He had a sudden memory of Uncle Fritz in the car, the night he almost drove drunk. Uncle Fritz had patted the dashboard and said, "Good thing we happened to drive by. You could have been killed."
    Had it really just been a coincidence that Uncle Fritz arrived just in time to stop him?
    How powerful was the magic?
    "Hey, baby," Brad said, patting the dashboard. "Let's go pick Denise up before she leaves work and take her out for a surprise romantic dinner."

    "I must say, I like the new, prompt Brad," said Denise after the waiter took their orders.
    Brad just grinned at her, grateful that she was here with him, alive. And he finally understood what Uncle Fritz meant by the curse: now that he had this power to save people he cared about from tragedy, he had the responsibility to use it.
    I trust you will be a responsible driver
, the note had said. Brad would live up to that trust.
    Denise let out an exaggerated sigh. "But I guess I can't say you'll be late for your own funeral any more."
    "No," said Brad. "No, I'll be early."



Sparrowjunk
    by Margit Elland Schmitt
    Artwork by James Owen
----
    The first time Steve saw the junkie - really saw her - she was on the fire escape outside his son Matt's room, sitting next to the bird feeders and looking like she was drowning in the rain. He crossed to the window and had a fleeting impression of a thin face beneath pale, draggled hair, and the flying tail of a long, dark coat. Then she took off, vanishing in a clatter of feet down the stairs, and Steve found himself with both hands pressed cold against the window, his breath fogging the glass.
    "Dad?" said Matt. "What is it, Dad?"
    Matt. Sitting up in bed with his sandy hair sticking out at all angles. He wore fuzzy, footie pajamas, and had a faded pillow case safety-pinned round his shoulders for a superhero cape. Matt was only five. Steve didn't want to scare him. He could see that the window was still locked; ran his fingers over the mechanism to be sure. He closed the curtains to shut out the rain, the junkie, and the night in one swift motion, and wiped his hands on his jeans.
    "Thought I saw something in the bird feeders," he said. "Probably a sparrow."
    "A really big sparrow? Or maybe it was a rat," said Matt, more intrigued than horrified.
    That was part life in the city, where pigeons and rats, alley-cats and squirrels, were what passed for wildlife. Matt didn't get outside much these days. The room was littered with picture books and building blocks, with one corner entirely devoted to the dirty laundry Steve kept telling himself he needed to get to. A domino trail led from a Lego castle guarded by a stuffed dragon, back and forth to the mysterious shadow-world under the bed, and out into the hall.
    There were binoculars on the night table next to the medicine bottles. Matt had decided that if he was stuck inside, he was going to watch birds through the windows. The bird-feeders had gone up the next day and drew plenty of visitors.
    Most days, Steve came home from work and Matt had some story or other about a rare crested blue jay or pigeon sighting. Leah, the sitter had a copy of the
Birds of America
, and Steve tried to throw as many birds as he could into bedtime stories. Matt could go on about feathers and beaks, nests and eggs for hours on end.
    Steve thought of it as a good luck charm. Since the bird feeders had gone up, Matt had started responding to the medication. He had energy now, enough to be restless and cranky, to be bouncing off the